


Cleaning Guns

by AnxiousPeaches



Category: Deathgarden (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Forced Eye Contact, Gun Blowjob, Gun Kink, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxiousPeaches/pseuds/AnxiousPeaches
Summary: While Ghost is stuck in his prison cell, a guard decides to teach him a lesson about respect (and cleaning guns).





	Cleaning Guns

A rumble of thunder could just barely be heard through the thick layers of concrete that housed me and god knows who else. A droplet of cold water hit the coarse brown curls on top of my head as I paced back and forth in the small cell.

_ One million victories.  _ I mulled over my sentence for the thousandth time since my imprisonment. Even if I was lucky enough to be placed in three Bloodharvests a day, I would never reach that number. More likely, I’d get myself shot in the head and never come back. 

The Gauntlet had once been a thing cherished in my family. My family built their careers off of it, even becoming celebrities for their success. They gave me the reputation I needed to hold a bit of political power, not that it meant much compared to the Hunters. Now it was just something the Hunters used to maintain an iron grip over our rights in the Enclave. 

A woman screamed a few cells down from mine, followed by the laughter of guards.  _ Night shift check-ins? _ I didn’t know what time it was, but I felt tired enough for it to be night. There were no windows in the prisoner section of the complex. My schedule revolved around whenever the guards decided it was time to feed me, take me to the showers, put me in the Bloodharvest, or allow me time in the recreational area. 

Sometimes the last one was replaced with one of their many social visits. I couldn’t count how many times I had to go to medical before a Bloodharvest because of the damage they’d done. Of course, the doctors and nurses never batted an eye. I tried once to report the abuse. It was a naive idea that the Warden cared about such things. I learned quickly that my previous life meant nothing in the complex. I was no better than the criminals or the aspirants locked away. 

_ If they were going to give me a million victories, they should have just given me life imprisonment.  _ I doubted they’d ever let me get close to finished with my sentence. Not after what I had done. They’d plant something in my cell before a room inspection, or add some infraction to my record that I never did. It didn’t matter if Fadil Taha deserved it. The public saw me as a man who tried to assassinate a beloved -- or perhaps just a power-hungry-- leader. 

I wondered what my parents thought of me. I’m sure many suspected that they were aware of the plot. Every inch of their home was probably bugged, and maybe even their vacation house too. It hurt, knowing that they never wrote to me. I tried to pretend that they weren’t communicating with me simply because they didn’t want to be suspected as traitors. Yet, deep down, I wondered if I was too much of a disappointment. 

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” A gruff voice snapped me out of my thoughts. From the barely lit hallway, I could see the silhouette of a guard, clad in the standard, heavily-padded uniform. He stared at me from behind the metal slit at the top of the door, his eyes narrowing on me as I stopped my pacing.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding foreign to my ears. I practically squeaked the word out.

The door rattled open as he swiped his ID card against keycard reader. My heart quickened its pace as he stepped into the small space. I took a step back, hitting the wall behind me. The door shut with a light click that made me more afraid than any loud explosion that ruptured my eardrums in the Bloodharvest. 

“Let's try this again,” he growled. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” 

I didn’t know what had annoyed him with my answer. “I was just about to lie down,” I said, my voice sounding hoarse and shaky. That’s all it took to make him snap: one wrong little answer. He grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and pulled me up so I was face to face with him. 

“When you talk to a guard, you call them sir, you understand? Show some fucking respect, filth.” As he spoke, flecks of saliva hit my face. Peppermint clung to his breath, possibly the only nice smelling thing in the room. “Got it?” He gave me a firm shove against the wall behind me. The smack of the hard concrete against my head made my eyes water up. Even after having my own limbs torn off my body by a barrage of bullets, the most simple of pains still got to me. 

“Yes, sir,” I said, just wanting the whole thing to be over. This wasn’t anything new. The guards in the complex took great joy in tormenting us.

He tilted his head, watching me for a moment. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell much about his appearance. Pale skin, somewhat wrinkled. Probably around his thirties. There was just the hint of a tattoo peaking at his neck underneath his black collar.

Sharp pain in my gut sent me doubling over as he kneed me in the stomach. If he hadn’t been holding me up, I would have collapsed to the ground. Another hit, and this time I did slip out of his grasp. I gasped for the air he knocked out of me. A heavy boot landed on my crotch, first as a kick and then just a steady, crushing pressure as he pushed his weight down. He laughed, watching my crumpled body writhe beneath him. 

“Please stop.” I finally managed to mold my scream of agony into words. 

“Did you already forget what I’m trying to teach you?” He tutted, pushing down harder. Any more pressure and my dick would pop underneath his rubber soles. 

“Please stop, sir,” I cried out. Dignity be damned. There were a lot of things I could withstand in the complex, but losing my dick to some power-craving psycho wasn’t one of them. The boot lifted, but the pain was still there. It would be there for hours after he left: a constant reminder that I was simply a subhuman creature to these people. 

Heavy hands moved down my chest as he leaned over me. “Nice shirt,” he snickered, noticing the frayed ends of the silk fabric. It was the one thing I’d managed to keep with me from home. The rest of the clothes were just the random garments they threw at us. The printers could always repair the bullet wounds and rips in the fabric, but I never turned my shirt in. Someone would steal it or think I wasn’t good enough to own something so nice. 

The guard tugged at the buttons, pulling the fabric away. I flinched as the last button flew off from his needy attempt to open the shirt up. His hands trailed down my chest much lighter than I expected. A hungry look entered his eyes as he looked me up and down.

“You know, when I was sent down here I was told to make sure you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. I can think of a few ways to do that,” his voice was so low I could hear the pounding in my chest. He grabbed my crotch and squeezed it, chuckling to himself as I squirmed beneath him.  _ This can’t be happening. This can’t--  _

“I’m sure they wanted me to break your legs or something,” he went on as he pulled down the zipper of his pants. “I can do that after. Open up, bitch.” He stared at me expectantly as he whipped his dick out. I tried not to look, though it was hard not to when he thrust it at my face. Lengthy, uncut, almost completely erect. I shook my head.  _ No.  _ He sighed as he ran a hand through my hair. The grip tightened. He yanked my head up only to smash it back down to the floor. My ears rang and my vision spun, but I still had enough of a mind to struggled as he pushed my face into his shaft. 

The Bloodharvests had made me strong, but the complex made sure their guards were capable enough to keep scavengers in check. It wasn’t long before he had my arms cuffed behind my back. One of his boots crushed my thigh as he leaned over me. “That’s a good boy,” he chuckled. The barrel of a gun pressed against my temple. The cold metal scraped against my forehead as he caressed me with the pistol. “You fuck up one more time and the cleaning staff will be picking your brains off the ceiling,” he cooed as he brought the gun to my lips. “Open up, bitch.”

Sweat dripped down my neck as I eyed the hefty weapon. I’d only once seen a headshot, but that was on the livestream for the Algiers Bloodharvest. A scavenger lept off one of the cliffs, only to be hit by a hailstorm of bullets from a hunter. Their body hit the trees, followed by a shower of gooey flecks that made everyone in the room cheer. Maybe some of them didn’t realize that scavenger wasn’t coming back. I knew it though. 

I opened my mouth, letting him slip the barrel in. Tears were already flowing down my cheeks as I felt the cold metal clank against my teeth. It took only a few seconds for my jaw to ache from the width of the thing as he shoved it deep inside. A low whimper came from my chest as I felt my lips touch the trigger guard. Drool and tears dripped off my face and around the metal. 

“Look at me,” he ordered. I pried my eyes off the gun and glanced up. It was still too dark to see much of his face. A bit of stubble around his jaw, dark eyes glaring down at me, a grin with teeth that looked too sharp and white. He jerked the gun upward -- for the briefest moment I thought he’d fired it -- then laughed as I sobbed out in shock. 

“You ready to be my bitch?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. I was too scared to nod and my mouth was too full to speak. The only sound that came out was a muffled, wet squeak. He pulled the gun out, watching the thick coat of saliva drip onto the floor. “Messy girl,” he said, wiping it away with his hand and then rubbing it on my face. “Let's see if you clean cock as good as you clean guns.”

He pushed it back against my temple as he rubbed his dick against my lips once again. This time, I didn’t try to fight it. My jaw ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the pistol. Warmth filled my mouth as he jerked forward, forcing it all the way in till it hit the back of my throat. I gagged, of course, but he didn’t care. His hands gripped my hair tight as he thrust into me. 

“Use your tongue or I’ll shoot you,” he warned, hitting me with the barrel just to really get the message across. I pulled together the last strength of willpower I had to brush my tongue against his shaft. Sure, I might have given a few blow jobs before, but I certainly wasn’t going to give him any real effort. He moaned, then barked an order for me to keep going. 

Pain built up in my mouth. His balls slapped against my chin. Curly pubic hair brushed against my nose. I wasn’t sure at what point I started crying. I just wanted it to be over and it seemed to never end. I’d rather have both my arms shot off again than have his dick down my throat any longer. 

“God, it's kind of hot when you cry around my dick like that,” he said, his voice shaky as he picked up the pace. His legs shuddered a bit. The moans grew more slurred and drawn out. Even when I knew he was close, it came as a shock when he tilted my head back far enough to make my neck feel like it was on the verge of snapping. Hot cum spilled down my throat, hitting the back of it in waves. His heavy moans drowned out the sound of my gagging as I swallowed around him. 

When he was sure I couldn’t cough it up, he pulled out and let me fall to the ground. Shaky sobs spilled out my guts as I curled up on the floor, not caring about the pool of droll beneath my cheek. I heard him zip up his pants, but the creak of the door never came.

“Right, where was I? Oh yeah, breaking your legs.” His hand grasped onto my ankle. I screamed as he dragged me toward him, suddenly bursting with levels of adrenaline I normally only felt in Bloodharvests. If I’d been just a bit quicker, I could have possible scrambled away from him. Instead, he brought his boot down on the bit above my ankle. There was a ripping, popping sound beneath my wail. Another hit from the boot and the quiet noise of a breaking stick sucked all the air out of my lungs. 

“Let’s hope someone notices you in the morning,” he tutted as he let the broken leg drop to the floor. My ears were ringing, and suddenly the room felt far too cool against the white heat of aching leg. “I would  _ hate _ if the guards somehow missed checking in on you for the next few days.” 

I turned my head toward the man who was already walking out the door. He winked at me, giving the kind of grin you’d see from someone amused by a silly joke rather than seeing a human being in agony. The door slid shut. The only sounds in the room were my shaky sobs and the constant drip of cold water leaking from the ceiling. 


End file.
